


As Blind As Him

by uchihasavior



Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 03:39:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16421705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uchihasavior/pseuds/uchihasavior
Summary: It's always a nice day to wake up and be told your boyfriend committed a genocide.From a tumblr prompt; which people don't really think through sometimes.





	As Blind As Him

**Author's Note:**

> As the summary says, this is written of a tumblr prompt of "what if you were itachi's S.O before the massacre" which I guess is supposed to sound cutesy but is really dark as fuck. 
> 
> Feel free to insert if you really want to as I've left most major descriptors incredibly vague, except for that the reader is clearly a girl. 
> 
> For the purpose of this fic, Itachi was instructed to get a girlfriend for the purposes of appearing normal to his clan and the populace. Who it was doesn't really matter.

Your alarm clock ringing itself off the bedside table should have been your first sign that today would not be like every other day.

It was such an old, rickety thing, and you mostly woke up due to the clattering it would make traveling across the wood—the ringers weren’t in such great condition anymore. 

You sigh, sliding out of bed, bare feet hesitating on the cold, wooden floor. After you’ve bent down to pick it up, you note with defeat that the fall shattered the glass on the front, and the arms are loose.

There’s a click, click, click, but the long arm doesn’t move. It’s trying its best.

There’s simply no other reprieve but to go out and buy a new alarm clock.

It receives a nice little funeral, wrapped delicately in some napkins and set down in your trash can, and then you go about your normal morning prep, getting dressed, cleaning your face, and tending to your hair. 

The smell of breakfast is wafting through the kitchen, down the halls, and to your room, and you’ll have a filling meal before telling your mother you’ll be out for errands.   
\--  
It’s a warm day, too. Sunny. It rarely tends to overheat in Konoha. 

But it’s not the heat you’re worried about at the moment. 

_It’s the staring._

It’s not as if you’re unused to it—when you go out with Itachi, you draw people’s attention. 

But this looks different than before. Some are stares of pity. Some are filled with anger, and you decide you can’t really contend with them for any longer than a few minutes, shying down to the edge of the street and trying to blend into the crowd.

“You’ve really done it this time, huh?” 

Unnerved by the staring, you can’t help but jolt at the voice, even though you recognize it seconds later. It’s the woman who owns the dumpling shop. Sometimes—you go there with Itachi. You think it’s a little strange he likes sweets, but who are you to tell him what he can and can’t eat?

“What do you mean?” All of this is confusing, and you realize you’re scratching up and down the sides of your arms in anxiousness. This has to be some sort of weird, uncomfortable dream, like when older shinobi have nightmares about going to work in their underpants, right?

“That… _boyfriend_ of yours.” She says it with such venom in her voice, and you jolt a second time.

“What. What did he do?” Your patience is running thin, especially so when she looks at you like you’re stupid for not knowing.

“…What!?” You try again, when you're only met with silence. 

She finishes rolling up the uppermost portion of a paper baggie, handing it off to a customer to your right, and then pursing her lips back at you.

“Your boyfriend went and killed his whole family last night. The whole Uchiha clan’s gone.”

\--  
It does sound like some sort of cruel nightmare.

You can’t find any justification for it, yet you feel everyone’s stares again. They’re heavier. 

You’re frozen in place, trying and failing to think it through. A chill runs through you. 

Of course you couldn’t see this coming, you tell yourself. You never saw or heard anything that implied that—  
But he was always so quiet.

Not once have you ever heard him talk about his personal life. Nothing positive. But nothing _negative_ , and that still doesn’t help you try to reason it out.

All of them. All of them were dead. Sure, they were people you’d never even met, not even his kid brother—but it isn’t wrong to feel sad for them. 

You’d chalked it up to him just being awkward, and shy.

_What a fool you were._  
\--  
It all sinks in when you happen to cross by the district's borders, late in the afternoon, your broken alarm clock long forgotten. Yellow caution tape surrounds the area, and if you dare peek over it, you can see the fresh chalk outlines of bodies.

You feel sick. You’re lucky you haven’t yet eaten today, though the urge to vomit nothing but bile is still strong. 

_She’s the girl that dated a murderer._

_How could you not know he was a ticking time-bomb?_

_Why didn’t you do anything to stop him?_

You don't know.

You hope the lack of an alarm clock means you don't wake up again.


End file.
